Tag Archives: humor

Rebel

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I’ve been accused of being hasty
Full of mischief
I don’t act my age
And just what would my maturity be
Were there no markers to presume me sage?

And since when does sage mean stoic?
Or static? Or standard? Or stunted? Or still?
If my entire youth was lived being the rebel
Why shouldn’t my later years
Hold the same will?

I share a bond with Luna
My spirit justly named
Come mess with me
Try to lead me astray
If by chance you think I’m tamed

Simply because my sea of ebon locks
Is pierced with a few opaque silver strands
I’ll blow smoke circles while we match martinis
’Cuz come the morning
It will be me who still stands

An Ample Beauty in all my glory
A modern Venus rising from the foam
Luna shines her light upon me
As I add new tales
To her ancient tomes

I’m vivaciously living to my fullest
So when I close my eyes at last
It won’t be with tears for what wasn’t done
But with a jocund wink
To my past

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National Poetry Month – Day 17

Richard (the diminutive)

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When he knocks,
My doors open
And I let him inside
For I am alive
By the power
Of his breath
That inhales
And exhales
In tune with mine

He kisses me,
Yet he has no lips
He fondles me,
Gripping me tightly
Yet he has no hands

Beauty redefined
His distinct touch
Ferries his intent to me
If I sleep, he woos me
Should the blaze of passion strikes
And revels in gregariousness
When I rise

And yes, I rise
And yes, I crumble
And yes, I rise
And yes, I crumble

I know him deeply,
Just as
He knows me deeply
From his many visit
To my halls

Until I’m done away
In colorific splendor

But he knows how to mend
when I falter

For with a gentle kiss
My doors open again

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National Poetry Month Day 9

Straight Up

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As I am walking back from Starbucks I see this guy in The Commons, casually walking opposite me, heading towards my direction. A natural ginger, his hair was a thick curling ombre of dark russet at the roots, to the much brighter near strawberry blonde tips where the sunlight touched. The overall effect was that of an ochre nimbus of sorts as he strolled.  But that was not what caught my attention.  Was he attractive? Yes. Oh yes. Not in the he could be a model vein, but definitely eye-catching and holding. I smile behind my grande whole milk, low foam, no water, extra shot, dash of chocolate, but nothing complicated chai cup, watching a couple of college girls turning their necks in an Exorcist worthy near 180 degree twist as they notice him pass.

What really struck me about him was his stature. He stood, or rather walked, very straight.  Not the tight gripped; stick up the arse kind of straight, either. Most of tall adults I know, male and female, walk with a slight curve to their shoulders and backs from years of ducking doorways etc.  Not him. His stride is confident, shoulders relaxed and straight.  Yet there was a definitive uprightness to his posture.

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s not polite to stare?”

I was not aware of staring, but clearly I was as he stopped right in front of me with his teasing chastisement. Caught by surprise I simply said exactly what I was thinking.

“I was admiring your erectness.”

“What?!”

He blinked, looking at his crotch and then back at me incredulously. Only then did I realize my wording. Crap! So that’s what that feels like from the other side! Such Freudian slips are so rarely accidental from me that I caught my own self off guard.

“Your posture! I meant your posture! Your posture is very straight for such a tall guy. Oh Jiminy Crickets!” I nearly spit out my chai, fumbling over my words and laughing, making a concentrated effort to keep my eyes on the head I can see.

“Good save!” He grinned. “My chiropractor, proctologist and I thank you.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” I laugh walking away. “You enjoy your day!”

“I most certainly will now.” His fading chuckle reached me.

I bet he’s still laughing.

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Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: The Look of Loath

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As a colleague and I are crossing a street, I spy a “gentleman” waiting for the bus at the corner. He coughs up what seems to be some three-quarters of his lungs, generating considerable phlegm in his throat.  As the Neanderthal did not have enough manners to at least step to the curb first, he aims away from his own person in complete disregard of any other person near him, causing a woman near him to flinch out-of-the-way as his personal refuse lands near her foot with quite an audible splat upon the sidewalk.  Charmed, I’m not.

At this point he looks up, sees me crossing, wipes his mouth with his coat sleeve and breaks out into this most beatific smile. Regrettably, there is no question at all that the smile is for me as I knew there was no one close enough behind me for this and I was reasonably sure it was not blown at the burly E beside me. No, really? He cannot be serious? Surely he is aware of what I just witnessed in the past 30 seconds?  I audibly groan to E’s bemusement.

Loverman then blows a kiss in my direction, quickly dashing any hopes I held that I was mistaken in his intended target. I think it is fair to surmise that my aversion was clearly shown on my face as the smile was quickly rescinded.

“You mean you don’t want to swap saliva with him?” E, having witnessed the whole thing, does not try to hold his laughter, to my annoyance.

“Oh, not is he, the most beguiling of man? How near swooned with most ardent desire was I, upon his visage gazed.” I grumbled as I angle our direction to clearly indicate I was not walking towards the would-be Lothario, just in case there was any doubt. E, not up on my latest butchering of Elizabethan, raised an eyebrow not understanding, so I translated:

“The dude is disgusting! I nearly passed out in revulsion at the sight of him.”

And it’s only Monday morning people.

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Let’s see how my fellow Slicers are doing on the 23rd day of the challenge:

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Springing for More Snow

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♫ ♬ On the first day of spring Old Man Winter gave to New York City, more freaking inches of snow! ♫ ♪

Yo Demeter! Give the curmudgeon his exit papers already!

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Let’s see how my fellow Slicers are doing on the 20th day of the challenge:

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Verbal Diarrhea Diaries: Don’t Believe Me Just Watch

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A friend of mine posted this fun video on her Facebook page…

Fully aware of the very likely end result of my even attempting such maneuvers, this was my two cents on the subject:

If I tried that I would be on my behind in no time flat. It would be more like:

🎵Stop! Wait a minute! Gettin’ off the floor ’cause my butt hit it*. 🎶

*The line between the musical notes sung in tune to a line from the song that is playing.

So go right ahead and insert all the puns on the extent of my current forms of strenuous of exercise such as run my mouth, jump to conclusions, jog my memory et cetera right here…

Because yes, while I admire Carson Dean’s impressive free style dance moves on the treadmill as a form of exercise, I am quite cognizant of where my physical capabilities lay, and that is down, as is lay down, not dancing on a treadmill – unless it’s turned off. And even then, with my two left feet, with nine toes on one of them, I am proof positive that not all black people can dance, not that it stops me, but trust me, you don’t really want to see that.

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Let’s see how others are getting their Uptown Funk on this 18th  day of the challenge:

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Winded

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I ponder the landscape before me
The heat blistering
Vapors rising from its midst
Near blurring my view
Like steaming asphalt
On a summer day

Then winds caress its surface
A summer zephyr
Hot in its own space
Yet cooling
Compared to the craggy topography

In the near distance
I can see the drafts
Bending the haze to its will
Its passage a forgone conclusion

Or so I thought
As one harsh gust
Changes the very terrain
Blasting away all in its path

Looking from the empty fork
To the mound freshly fallen
Upon the floor
It’s just as well I think
Damn food was too hot anyway

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Happy St. Paddy’s Day!!

Today at dVerse, guest pubtender Kathleen Everett has prompted us to write a poem about the wind. I suspect a very hot serving of pilaf and a very hungry tummy that lead to some impatient huffing and puffing on my part, with unfortunate results, is not exactly what was meant, but hey – it works right? Right.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Winds of March

Let’s see how others are blowing their way through this 17th  day of the challenge:

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What’s The Story?

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In the light of the day she’s a woman quite known, of beauty truly
Her eyes a most unique shade, not quite verde nor quite lazuli
With an abundance of ebon curls, a burden she called unruly
Affluent in riches and soul, her words are harkened most duly

Very few knew the nocturne song of this exalted magistrate
Her penchant for uncurbed appetites are ones many would berate
As the light faded the elegant manners, which many relate
Are in sharp contrast to her daytime form, considered so sedate

The few who knew would never tell, for they held the same prescription
To a peccadillo of delights, brought in by joint subscription
Sent in varying packages always with some vague inscription
The lack of which has rubbed a few of them into a conniption

But then rumors started to leak and some of them quite gory
What were the bundles with the odd leaf? Were they against the tory?
A press conference held for the purpose of restoring their glory
Was a sickening love of taffy, that’s the end of the story

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Busy day + silly mood = weird last-minute posts

Let’s see how others got through this 14th day of the challenge:

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What You Won’t Do – Do For Art…

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I was attempting to take a picture of a dew-sparkled spider web in the sunlight. Please note, I, being more of a kill it with fire type person when it comes to spiders, am hardly an arachnid’s BFF.  Still I admire the delicate, intricate complexity of a well spun spider web – go figure.  I took several pictures from different angles  around it, but they were all from above. The problem, soon I realized, is that the picture I knew it could be, the picture I wanted would never be captured standing from above. I tried crouching and bending down, but it wasn’t giving me what I wanted – the clean lines of the web itself. It was becoming clear, I was going to have to get below it. Below it, as in get on the ground. The ground was still damp from the morning shower.

I was so not doing that.

Not to mention, I am in a public park. Though no one was around at the moment, I had no way of knowing how long I was going to be down there trying to get the right shot. Friends were one thing, but did I really want strangers seeing me potentially sprawled out in damp grass out trying to take pictures of – what?  Unless they came close they would not see the web. It was pure luck the sunlight played off the diamond dew drops capturing my attention that kept me from walking right through it.  From a distance, it would look more like I was taking pictures of the space between the bushes. That would surely raise an eyebrow.  As it was, it seemed even the spider was looking at me kind of dubiously as I changed angles from a still standing position.

It became one of those odd times where the artist screamed against the practical. As I heard voices approaching it was also one of those odd times where the artist lost. Personal vanity won this round as I walked away.

I mean, what’s a I take pictures even if the only person who likes them is me going to do?  I’m no Ansel Addams (no relation to Gomez by the way), it’s not as though with my little camera I was going to have an image of such high quality as to be posted on gallery walls, or at a museum or even the zoo. The only person who would know or even care that I didn’t get the picture is me. And I could live with that.

Right?

Right!

Yeah, not right.

As I continued walking around the park taking pictures, enjoying the company of my friend I was visiting, spidey and that darn web kept popping into my mind. I really wanted that picture.  We had to pass through the same area to exit the park, thus I made up my mind that I was taking the picture.  The sun had shifted and I again almost walked right through not seeing it as I had forgotten the one very important thing – dew drops dry in sunlight.  I had let vanity win and the opportunity to photograph the dew sparkled web had passed. The artist in me enjoyed a moment of schadenfreude (nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah, nyaaaah nyah!), even as I lamented the loss (boo-hoo).

So what do I do now? Lemonade time. With the shifting sun I could now get, what I could not get a couple of hours previously, good clean lines.  Knowing I was likely going to rise with slightly muddy knees, passers-by maybe watching – maybe not – I didn’t care, and practical be damned! I  didn’t think twice about it this time as I immediately dropped to take the shot.

Yes!

spider

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I was looking through my digital photos in search of one in particular to show someone and came across spidey here. While it is the best of the dozen or so shots I took, it is not the greatest – as I knew it would be, but I like it and as one of my favorite bands would say, Nothing Else Matters.

Let’s see how others are facing things on this Friday the 13th – the 13th day of the challenge:

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Elevate Your Shenenigans

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A few months ago in the early fall, I get on the elevator at my office one morning and press the button for my floor. A colleague who works on a different floor presses the button for his floor and we nod at each other in greeting. Others enter the elevator and press the buttons for their respective floors. I noticed a pattern emerging on the panel as buttons were pushed and smiled to myself at the coincidence. At this point it needed only one more button pushed to complete the array. The doors were slowly closing and I had mentally brushed off the disappointment of the pattern being left undone, when a hand thrusts in to bounce the doors open. One more person gets in the elevator.  Silly bird that I am, my thoughts quickly race.

Is it going to happen? Is it going to happen?!

My eyes widen in anticipation as his finger reaches towards the panel.

Yes, he’s really going to do it!

I start to smile as the finger draws nearer to the goal only to suddenly shift and press a different button than hoped for.

Noooooooooooooo!

“Aw man! You messed it all up!” Yes, I said that out loud.

“What?” The gentleman quickly withdrew his finger nervously laughing, and totally confused.

“Look! Look at what you’ve done! You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined it all! Even you can see the tragedy of this now! Even you! Even!” I mock cry dramatically, putting heavy emphasis on the word even while gesturing to the button panel where numbers 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 were lit in an orderly line waiting for 12 to join them.  Had he pressed the button for the twelfth floor it would have worked out that all the of even floors and only the even floors would have been lit by pure chance, but noooooooooo! What could have been a moment of pure serendipitous perfection is now trashed by the glaring light of 11.  There are tiny titters of laughter as the other riders start to get it.  Two of them know me well and quickly become a Greek chorus bemoaning the poor man’s fate.

“Oh no, not the odd floor!”
“Oh, you done done it now man.”
“It was nice knowing you.”

“Oh, no! Oh my! Egads! Such an undignified transgression! I shall remove myself from here immediately!” He played right into the scene.

“Oh why bother, the damage is done, you unthinking cad!” I wailed, while quickly fanning my eyes with my fingers to deter the tears that would never fall. “You sir are a scoundrel! A scoundrel I say!”

All of this to the bemusement of the captive audience of the other riders forced to endure this elevated melodrama. The lucky worker on the second floor already escaping before the bloodshed.

“Oh dear lady, however can one so lowly as I make this right!”

The next floor is mine and as the doors begin to open there was only one thing that could be said in the face of such an onslaught.

“How you ask?! By having a nice day, sir! That is what I wholly wish for the likes of you! A nice day!” I say this with all the teeming passion of a Fake-sperian actor casting a pox upon one’s house. Turning with a dramatic huff, I fling my non-existent fur stole over my shoulder as I exit all Norma Desmond style to full-out laughter as the doors close behind me.

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Now let’s fast-forward to today as I get on the elevator this morning  and a gentlemen follows immediately after. I press the button for my floor and step aside so he can press the button for his. He reaches out an extended finger almost about to push the button, but withdraws it quickly.

“Is it okay if I push it this time?” He inquires of me.

I presume my expression spoke volumes along the fortunately un-uttered lines of why the fuck are you asking me?  for he quickly added “The last time we rode an elevator together you called me unthinking cad so I’m just checking first.” His smile makes me actually look at him this time and I take a moment to scan through the various elevator shenanigans of which I’ve always only been a mere bystander to – as you can tell by the encounter above – until recognition dawns and I press the button for the eleventh floor for him.

“Thanks! You remember!” He laughs.

“Why yes I do, you scoundrel!” and then proceed to press every button between his floor and mine, finishing just as the doors to my floor open.

“No, you did not just do that!” If he was even mildly irked, it is totally swallowed by his hoot of laughter at my antics as I exit.

“Have a nice day!” I grin and wave my fingers as the doors close on his continued laughter.

Yes, I have many issues, and clearly no damn sense, and still no idea who he is.

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Come see how others are elevating their slices this month:

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